


mediterranean blue

by pistachiomadeleines



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9280337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistachiomadeleines/pseuds/pistachiomadeleines
Summary: Yuri has no one to celebrate his Grand Prix victory with, and then Otabek calls him on the phone.  Friendship and the stirrings of romance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I miss Barcelona!

Yuri Plisetsky might have been one of the youngest figure skaters of all time to take the Gold at the Grand Prix, but he’d also, unfortunately, claimed the less sought-after title of becoming the first gold medal winner ever to celebrate his victory all alone in his hotel room.

His coaches were out getting shit-faced on his behalf, and even his grandfather, after two thirty-minute long phone calls, had urged him to get off the phone and celebrate with his “friends”.  To be fair, Victor and Pork Cutlet Bowl had invited Yuri to come out with them, i.e. spend the afternoon watching them make puppy eyes at each other, but he’d turned them down, taking great pleasure in rattling off the long list of places he’d rather be than around the two of them: prison, the dentist, a funeral without free food, the bottom of a Saint Petersburg pond in deep winter…

Leaning back against the pillows of his newly-made hotel bed and flicking through Instagram, where he was confronted by picture after picture of the other skaters grinning and posing under a Barcelona sky filtered into impossible colors, Yuri reconsidered his position.  Perhaps he had been too hasty in rejecting Cutlet’s offer..  

But the indignity - the sheer ig _nominy_   - of having to go by Yurio right after he'd won the Grand Prix!  The other skaters had noticed and they, too, were starting to call him Yurio, even though he’d _clearly_ demonstrated today that he was the superior Yuri.  Everything was so unfair!  Yuri scowled and keeled face-first onto the mattress.

The radiator hummed tunelessly.  The freshly laundered sheets smelled pleasant but chemical.

Then Yuri’s phone gave a long buzz, a heart coming to life in his hand.   _A call!_ he thought with delight, and lifted his head to see who it was from.

“Hi,” said Otabek on the other end of the line, and Yuri broke into a grin at the sound of his voice.

He sat up in bed and said, “Hey.”

“So, uh, you’re probably busy celebrating.  But on the off chance that you aren’t doing anything at the moment…”

“I’m not,” Yuri said immediately.

“Oh, good.  I mean…  you know what I mean.  Anyway, I’m flying off tonight.  Want to meet up for a drink first?”

“A drink?” Yuri began uncertainly.  “I can’t-”

“I meant tea or something.”

Yuri made a face.  “Tea just tastes like warm water.”

“Uh, coffee?” suggested Otabek.

“Tastes like warm, polluted water,” said Yuri, and Otabek laughed.  The sound was light and rustling through the receiver, like leaves.

“Alright,” said Otabek, “You decide, then.”

“Milkshakes?” Yuri said a little sheepishly.  “We don’t have to-”

“No, milkshakes are fine,” said Otabek.  “I’ll pick you up in fifteen?”

They worked out the details, then Yuri was left frowning at his phone.  There was something rather old fashioned about Otabek, he thought.  Who made phone calls in this day and age?  Even Yuri’s grandfather usually Whatsapped.

***

There was something about riding through the slanting, late afternoon light on the back of Otabek’s bike that reminded Yuri of being on the ice.  He liked the quiet of a city winding down at the end of a work day, and the way they glided, unfettered by traffic, through the empty streets, and he even liked the wintry gusts of air that blew past his neck and cheeks each time they careened around a corner.  

It was different, though, not being in control of his own movement - this had alarmed Yuri yesterday, when he’d been asked for the first time to put his arms around Otabek’s waist, and just wait for the engine to propel them in a direction of Otabek’s choosing.  But Yuri was getting used to this.  Today he felt calm, and free.

***

Yuri got a banana milkshake, and Otabek got vanilla.  They found window seats in a corner of the milkshake store, with a view of Barceloneta beach.  The Mediterranean was a slice of indigo nestled between the sand and the sky.

“So,” began Yuri, stabbing the plastic seal on his cup with a wide blue straw, “Why aren’t you staying for the after party?”  He took a sip of milkshake and shut his eyes with pleasure, savoring the sudden rush of the sweetness he so rarely allowed himself.

Otabek shrugged.  “I don’t like crowds or alcohol,” he said.

“Same,” said Yuri.  “But I wish you’d stay.  We could watch that P- the other Yuuri get drunk and make a fool of himself and laugh at him together.”

“Those pole dancing pictures were quite something, huh?” said Otabek, and chuckled when Yuri pretended to gag.  Otabek stirred his milkshake around and looked thoughtful.  “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he began haltingly, “but why don’t you like Katsuki Yuuri?”

The directness of the question surprised Yuri.  He frowned at the view through the window - at the sinking gold light and the surfers bobbing like seals in the sea.  How to explain to Otabek the peculiar mixture of jealousy and bitterness Pork Cutlet Bowl _still_ brought out in him after all this time?  He’d felt it for so long he’d stopped asking himself why, but it had something to do with Viktor, and the fact that Yuuri - despite all his initial mediocrity - got to do everything with Viktor when Yuri was all alone.

“It’s… complicated,” he said at last, turning to regard Otabek.  “I don’t actually dislike him.  I just… got used to thinking that I do.”

Otabek nodded in the contemplative way Yuri was beginning to discover he liked a lot.  “I’ve done that too,” he said, and rested his chin on his hands.  Then he glanced at Yuri.  “I’ll stay for next year’s after party if you do.”

“Deal,” said Yuri and flashed a grin.

Before Otabek took them back to their hotels Yuri managed to convince him that it might be fun to dip their feet into the Mediterranean (“But it’s winter and we’ve just had milkshakes,” Otabek protested.  “Are you a chicken?” countered Yuri).  So they rolled up their trousers and left their shoes and socks in the sand and went racing into the blue.

“It’s freezing,” said Otabek accusingly when they were ankle-deep in seawater.

“But fun?” asked Yuri, brushing hair out of his eyes and squinting up at Otabek.

Otabek offered a rare smile.  “But fun,” he conceded.  Then, with one swift, fluid motion he bent down, scooped up the ice cold water in his hands and splashed Yuri in the face.

 Yuri let out a long, unmanly squeal and sprinted back to the shore.  He collapsed beside their pile of socks and shoes, and seconds later Otabek plopped down beside him, his wet, sand-streaked feet gleaming in the sun.  “Make that sound again,” he laughingly teased, and Yuri blushed.  

Here was something else Yuri was discovering he liked about Otabek - somehow, without trying, he found he could make the other boy laugh.

***

On the ride home from the beach Barcelona seemed like a dream.  After the adrenaline of the day Yuri was beginning to feel sleepy, and the city lights around them seemed to twinkle and to blur like a constellation of warm and not so distant stars.  He let his head droop and come to rest on a cool patch of leather somewhere on the upper planes of Otabek’s back.

“Don’t fall asleep - you'll fall,” warned Otabek, his voice barely audible over the engine’s steady drone.

“Mmkay,” said Yuri, and tightened his grip around Otabek’s waist.  Maybe it was alright that Viktor and Yuuri did everything together, he thought sleepily.  Everyone deserved a person, even Pork Cutlet Bowls, and maybe Yuri, too, had finally found his own.

 


End file.
